


Honeymoon

by rageprufrock



Series: Drastically Redefining Protocol [2]
Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-25
Updated: 2009-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 05:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rageprufrock/pseuds/rageprufrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The original plan had been, in fact, to honeymoon in Spain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honeymoon

The original plan had been, in fact, to honeymoon in Spain.

Only after their wedding—which between the confection at the chapel and the civil signing and the public reception and parade and the smaller one where Hunith had spent the entire time weeping—had felt more like four weddings, and Arthur and Merlin had slept for nearly 28 hours after and missed four different flights out.

"Well, it looks like we've botched this up famously," Merlin said hoarsely, sipping tea and still curled up in Arthur's enormous bed at Clarence House, nearly drowning in an ocean of bedlinens, his hair a wild nest of dark curls.

Arthur made a noise of vague agreement, flopped over Merlin's lap, but stared at the television screen, at the hoard of reporters and photographers in Spain chasing round for people who hadn't managed to show up yet.

"On the other hand," he said, thoughtful, "There's no reason we have to go where trouble awaits us."

"We can't skip our honeymoon," Merlin argued, but seemed disinclined to suit action to words, which Arthur thought promising.

"It's our honeymoon," Arthur pointed out. "I see no reason we shouldn't spend it however we want."

And Arthur wanted, now and suddenly, to spend it in London, which wasn't swarming with paparrazzi, and where Merlin could make them even more invisible.

"Well..." Merlin said, trailing off and considering, and Arthur said, "Right, that's that, then," and made an executive decision to drag Merlin down into the sheets again so they could tumble back into sleep, heated and dreamy.

The next time they woke up Arthur curled Merlin's hands around the headboard, kissed him hot and dirty and worshipful on the mouth, behind his ear, in the hollow of his white, curved throat, and growled, "Don't move them—keep your hands there," as Merlin began moaning, wordless.

Arthur didn't know what the roaring in his ears was, exactly, only that he liked the way Merlin was stretched underneath him, how every inch of their skin touched, and that possession suited Merlin—he looked good like that, conquered.

"What are you thinking?" Merlin asked, breathless, pupils blown. There was a shimmer of gold there, a promise underneath the blue of his irises.

Arthur hushed him with a kiss. "Didn't I tell you not to talk?"

"No," Merlin protested, but fell silent, compliant, and Arthur couldn't help the half-mad smile that stole over his face, hearing the click of Merlin's wedding band against the wood of the headboard and thought _yes_.

"I was thinking I like you like this," Arthur said, skimming a kiss down the length of Merlin's sternum, bifurcating his narrow chest. His skin was hot and heaving underneath Arthur's mouth, and he wondered if this was what his namesake might have felt, a hundred lifetimes ago, entire nations fallen at his feet.

"Quiet?" Merlin asked, and Arthur glowered at him, a warning nip to his belly as he said:

"Obviously not—but mine."

The noise Merlin made then might have aspired to be words, but mostly it came out as a whimper, a murmur of the heart, and Arthur allowed it in favor of digging fingertip bruises into Merlin's narrow, sharp-cornered hips and biting at the soft skin where his thigh and hip met.

"I wish," Arthur heard himself say, ghosting hot breaths around Merlin's cock, already hot and slick at the tip, restless against his belly, "that I could just keep you here forever, in my bed, that you didn't know anything else and didn't do anything else—that you were just my secret."

He pressed a kiss, teasing, proprietary, under the head of Merlin's dick, and lingered there, a swipe of tongue, before trailing his mouth downward.

"Maybe keep you tied at the ankle to the bed," Arthur said, smiling against the inside of Merlin's thigh, at the hot, shivering skin, at Merlin's soft gasps. "Maybe I'd keep you wet all the time, open, ready for me."

Merlin made a strangled noise, high in his throat, his thighs locking around Arthur's shoulders, urgent.

The first time they'd fucked without a condom, it had been unplanned and sort of irresponsible, but then Arthur had spent half an hour after slipping his thumb and fingers inside Merlin, teasing, loving the way he was slick and fucked-open, come dripping out—and then Merlin had made a series of intensely slutty comments which had led to the second time they'd fucked without a condom. It was less accidental but equally irresponsible and just as worth it, and Arthur had loved it, loved pushing into the hot, tight, wet of Merlin, loved fucking him slow and unhurried after, the tension melted out of Merlin’s body until it was all he could do to sprawl across the bed, fingers clutching weakly at the sheets.

"I love that you love it," Arthur went on, and now he drew himself up, reached over for the slick he'd tucked under his pillow and popped the top. "Maybe I'll just keep you filled up all the time—have me dripping out of you—would you like that?"

Merlin glared at him in a way that conveyed how much he would like it, and also that he would like it if Arthur got the fuck on with it.

So Arthur slicked up his cock and settled into the cradle of Merlin's hips, lands leaving wet prints on the sheets, and he captured Merlin's mouth in one of those swallowing kisses as he bottomed out inside of him in one long, unrelenting stroke.

He'd worried, early on, that Merlin needed a lot of preparation, that he might hurt him, and then they'd gotten shitfaced after the Ascot disaster and fucked, desperate, needing, after missing each other so long, and Merlin had come, shouting, at the burn of it when Arthur had fucked him against the wall, greedy and impatient. Arthur’s hands had been rubbed raw and Merlin’s back a map of bruises, and later they’d sunken into a bath together and Arthur had lavished each purpling mark with another on top, jealous.

Merlin bit his lip, hard, the equivalent of a kissed shout, and Arthur grinned back through the metallic tang of blood and began fucking him in earnest—short, brutal strokes that gave no quarter, and he closed his hands over Merlin's wrists where they were pressed against the headboard, pinning him there and helpless.

"Fuck, yes," Merlin gasped, when they finally broke apart to gasp at one another for breath, and Arthur said, affectionately, "Slut," to which Merlin provided in answer a low, wanton, chant of "Harder, fuck, yeah, more, more, I want to feel you in the back of my throat, yes," without any shame at all.

So Arthur did, until the headboard was clattering against the wall and Merlin's ankles were crossed tight around his waist, ankles digging into his back.

"Yes," Merlin kept saying, "yeah—God," and all of his words kept stuttering out of him in beats, abandoned in the sound of wet skin slapping and the bed protesting and Arthur's breath, harsh and broken as it rattled around his chest for purchase.

And it was good, it was fucking great—it always was—but it wasn't exactly what Arthur wanted, just shy of exactly what they both needed, he thought, so he pulled out, ignoring Merlin's shouted protest—more profanity than verbs or nouns—and rolled him over onto his belly.

He pulled Merlin up to his knees, but just that, and with one hand pinned between his shoulder blades, Arthur drove right back in, the angle perfect this time.

Merlin was making a crying noise into the pillows, burying his face in the mattress, fingers twisted in the sheets. All around them, the furniture was shifting, a tremble like the aftershock of an earthquake.

Arthur didn't think he'd ever get used to that, how fucking Merlin felt like a force of nature, how the Earth moved with them, so he just groaned, low and sincere and blindly grateful for this, and buried his face against the back of Merlin's neck, one hand coming round to spread wide, open-palmed over Merlin's heart.

"I want," Arthur said, and it took three tries to get it out just right, because he could feel himself tipping over, too, skimming downward, and Merlin was hot and tight and perfect, like a furled supernova. "I want you to come, just like this—just from this."

Merlin groaned, heartfelt and pleading, tilted his head back, fringe plastered to his face with sweat and his eyes fever bright as he moaned, "Don't know if I can," voice shaking, arms shaking, his whole body like a hot coal.

Arthur, who always liked a challenge, manhandled him some more, leaning into Merlin until his knees gave out and he was flat out against the bed, until he was stretched out along Merlin's back, holding Merlin's hands to the bed and rocking into him, in short, rough strokes.

"Sure you can," he said. "Or I'll just keep—" he shoved at Merlin hard "—doing this—" and again "—until you—"

"Fuck!" Merlin interrupted, rocking back against him, looking for any kind of leverage, but Arthur was heavier and sort of a bastard and he had Merlin down at the hips, riding him, and he could tell from the way the muscles in Merlin's ass fluttered that he was close—that just a bit more and it'd be over.

So he leaned back, pushing himself up on one hand—Merlin’s wrist still crushed underneath his palm—and put his weight on his knees, the weight of his hips crushing Merlin’s thighs to the bed in the sudden shift. He leaned over, his back arched like a bridge so he could scrape his teeth over the shell of Merlin’s ear, graze the skin behind it, as he ran his free thumb, blunt and still wet from the slick, around the stretched, obscene-pink rim of Merlin’s fucked-open hole, and say, rough:

“Come for me, Merlin.”

Merlin did, sobbing into the pillow, his entire body seizing, and Arthur followed him over, swearing and heaving for breath, fucking Merlin through his orgasm and pouring himself out, balls tight and hot against Merlin’s ass, and listening, distantly, to the sound of the headboard clattering and the protests of the mattress, and the noise of every crystal glass in the room shattering at once.

It takes ages for them to untangle from one another, and Merlin nearly suffocates, unmoving and unprotesting and utterly asleep underneath Arthur, but they find their way to a dry spot on the mattress eventually and sleep, dreamless and fast. And if Arthur can’t resist but to slide two fingers inside of Merlin—still loose, come leaking out, sticky on the insides of his thighs and along the back of his balls—then it’s only to hold his place.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Honeymoon [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/241913) by [RevolutionaryJo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RevolutionaryJo/pseuds/RevolutionaryJo)




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